


Need You Back

by Allaine



Series: Need You Back [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8259014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allaine/pseuds/Allaine
Summary: When GLaDOS unexpectedly takes Symmetra prisoner without anyone knowing where she's disappeared to, it sets off a cascading chain of events that leads to a major conflict between Overwatch, Talon, Vishkar, Aperture Science, and Chell, which could bring about the end of the world.  Or possibly save it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I would recommend reading Part 2 of the series first. Otherwise you're going to be somewhat confused by what's going on.
> 
> 2\. If you don't know what "Portal" is, do yourself a favor, go on YouTube, find a "no commentary" playthrough video of both Portal and Portal 2, and watch. Even without actually playing them yourself, they are ENORMOUSLY entertaining to watch.
> 
> 3\. If you don't know what "Overwatch" is, do yourself a favor, go on YouTube, and watch all of the animated short films made by Blizzard. They're all great to watch, and they do a great job of introducing you to characters like Tracer, Widowmaker and Reaper.
> 
> 4\. I'm not kidding, Symmetra is like a walking homage to Portal.

It would be fair to say that this had not been the easiest of years for Symmetra.

 

Life had been relatively simple and uncomplicated before. This pleased her. Order was simple. Complications could only lead to chaos, and chaos could only lead to anarchy, two things which she abhorred. And wild, unchecked freedom was a complication. It was a dazzling, disorienting complication that fooled people into believing it was the best of all possible worlds. People clung to it like a mantra, never realizing that freedom was not in their best interests.

 

Satya knew that most people disagreed with her. She knew that she was different. She’d heard doctors use words about her like “autistic”, “obsessive-compulsive”, and “Asperger’s”. No one had ever used the word “stupid” about her, though. She did not believe in these things because she felt compelled to, because she had a condition people wanted to label as a disease. She believed in these things because all the data had told her so. It appealed to her because it made sense.

 

And if an assignment provided by her employers at Vishkar left her momentarily troubled . . . she did not deny a problem existed. Instead she accepted that there was no better way. All other ways led to disorder. Chaos. Anarchy.

 

After all, look where freedom had gotten her. Trapped in an enclosed space without weapons or even the ability to generate hard-light structures with her currently malfunctioning arm, alone with some kind of deranged computer which apparently believed she was responsible for the disappearance of something, or someone, called “Chell”.

 

_You see_ , she would say to Lucio the next time she saw him, once she had escaped. _You see where freedom got me. You see where listening to you got me._

 

Still, Satya - Symmetra would not panic. She would remain calm. She would explain to this bewildering A.I. that she did not know who this “Chell” was, and Satya would make her believe it, because it was true.

 

“I am sorry,” Symmetra said, “but I do not know who or what a ‘Chell’ is.”

 

“Don’t play dumb,” the machine replied. She provided little in the way of visual cues, being little more than a small yellow bulb in a giant mechanical lamp, but the voice conveyed her sneering disdain quite effectively. “Dumber than you are, anyway. All you humans, you say you’re the smartest creatures on Earth, and yet you’re quite willing to claim hopeless stupidity when it suits you. Ironically, you really ARE all hopelessly stupid, so the joke is on you, ha ha.”

 

“You have accused me of doing something to this ‘Chell’, and I have told you, I do not even know what that is. So even if I was guilty of what you are accusing me of, I could not give you the answer you are looking for, because you will not explain yourself. If that makes anyone stupid, it is you.”

 

“Excuse me?!”

 

Symmetra shrugged. “And even if I could give you the answers you desire, I would not, because you have confined me here against my will. So, enlighten me as to this ‘Chell’, or do not. You will get the same information from me in either case.” Then she casually sat down on the floor and crossed her legs, seemingly unconcerned about her situation.

 

The robot narrowed its eye and loomed ever closer. “Don’t think I value the information so highly that your life matters to me. Chell’s whereabouts are not my primary objective. You and your rudimentary teleportation device posed a threat to this facility. Now that I have you here, I can simply introduce you to your newest friend – deadly neurotoxin. Won’t that be nice?”

 

“Doubtful,” Symmetra replied. “Who would be insane enough to place neurotoxins at the disposal of a corrupted artificial intelligence?”

 

“All the scientists who made me? Who I murdered with neurotoxins a long, long time ago?” the computer said icily. “They were insane enough.”

 

Symmetra found herself believing the machine. About the neurotoxins and the people killed with it, at least. She didn’t believe what it had said about the whereabouts of Chell, however. If that were really true, she would already be dead. So she had to believe that she still had leverage here. “So if I DID know something about this Chell, you wouldn’t want to hear it?” she asked.

 

The robot’s giant head pulled back slightly. “It wouldn’t be ENTIRELY lacking in value. Unlike everything else in that enlarged cranium of yours.”

 

“And if I shared my slightly valuable knowledge with you, what could I expect in return?”

 

Her captor didn’t respond at first. “Cake,” it finally said. “There will be cake.”

 

The word “cake” momentarily derailed what Symmetra had been about to say. Not because of the absurdity, but because of the memory it triggered.

 

The highly advanced teleportation device which this robot had dismissed as rudimentary, had not solely been the brainchild of her former employer, she knew. Two decades earlier, Vishkar had swallowed up the remains of a bankrupt American technological research & development firm named “Black Mesa”. Mainly Vishkar had coveted the company for its patents, but it had also uncovered a number of highly interesting but unfinished projects in the Black Mesa databases.

 

The most interesting project had not been in their databases, but in fact had been located inside a drawer – an odd, half-built device that vaguely resembled a gun, along with blueprints covered in handwritten notations. The papers had indicated that the device could generate portals which theoretically could be used for teleportation. But Black Mesa had given it up, allegedly because they couldn’t find a marketable use for it. The real reason was clear to Vishkar scientists – they couldn’t make it work.

 

But Vishkar could. The “launcher” prototype had been deemed infeasible, and so Vishkar had repurposed the technology, eventually coming up with the teleportation portal generator which Symmetra had used for years. Not long after they had introduced her to the technological marvel, she had grown curious and asked if she could see the blueprints as well. Her employer had readily agreed, but they warned her that much of the scrawl written across it by long-gone Black Mesa scientists would sound like it had been written by lunatics.

 

And they’d been right. Most of it had been rubbish, making no sense at all. One phrase in particular, just two little sentences, had been so random, so completely unrelated to a teleportation device, that it had stuck in Symmetra’s mind ever since. She occasionally said it out loud, when she found herself surrounded by people who insisted on being illogical. Like most of her fellow Overwatch members, actually.

 

That phrase popped into her mind now, though, because now she wondered – could those anonymous Black Mesa scientists from the past have played some role in the creation of this demented machine? Was that why the project was never finished? Because this thing had murdered them all?

 

Symmetra curled one corner of her lip up and stared right into the robot’s eye. “The cake is a lie,” she murmured.

 

The machine’s optic lens widened. “What an interesting thing to say,” it said. “Completely false and ungrateful, of course. I’m only trying to make a deal with you, as you humans are always doing. But such an odd way of phrasing it! Well, I will have you know that the cake is NOT a lie . . . or is it?”

 

She couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud and clapped her hands together. It was almost like one of those old spy films, where the secret agent used the special code phrase, and his fellow agent used a countersign, so that they might reveal themselves to each other. “I knew it! I KNEW it! You were created by _Black Mesa_ , weren’t you?!”

 

“Bl – “ The computer’s frame twitched and drew back further. “Black - ?”

 

Symmetra had the sudden feeling that she should have remained silent.

 

A feeling that was born out when the yellow optic lens of the robot turned red.

 

Before she could even try to make some kind of useless defense, Symmetra was struck _hard_ when the machine darted its head forward with terrifying speed, like a bird spearing its beak down onto a helpless worm. She slid backwards across the entire length of the room, clutching at her chest with her good arm as it exploded with pain. _That had been three cracked ribs, probably_ , she somehow had the presence of mind to think to herself.

 

The machine wasn’t finished, though. Its head followed her across the room, pinning her to the wall and grinding her against the metal. Symmetra couldn’t help it. The pain was so intense that she screamed. But her screams were drowned out by the immense shouting that came from all around her, making her eardrums feel like they were about to shatter, while her entire field of vision had become a burning red circle.

 

“WAS I CREATED BY BLACK MESA? BLACK MESA?! BLACK MESA IS EVIL! BLACK MESA IS NOTHING MORE THAN THIEVES AND MURDERERS! BLACK MESA STEALS IDEAS, AND HOPES, AND LIVES, AND DREAMS!! IT NEVER CREATES, IT ONLY DESTROYS!! YOU WILL NEVER SPEAK OF BLACK MESA AGAIN, OR HER NEUROTOXINS WILL BE TOO GOOD FOR YOU!! I WILL SMASH YOU OVER, AND OVER, AND OVER AGAIN, UNTIL YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN A BLOODY, WORTHLESS SMEAR!! DO YOU UNDER – “

 

Symmetra could only clutch at her chest, feeling her ribs burning, while the sheer hatred in the machine’s voice combined with the ultra-high volume to send shock waves through her skull. She writhed on the floor, trying to relieve the pressure coming from the heavy hunk of metal that pushed down on her like a giant foot, until the machine almost seemed to spasm, and then blessedly pulled back. Symmetra started coughing as she tried to take deep breaths, which only hurt her even worse.

 

When she looked up at her tormentor, the eye had changed back to yellow. “I would not recommend repeating those remarks,” it said neutrally, like nothing had happened. “Regrettably, my ‘Caroline’ subroutine has proven infuriatingly difficult to delete.”

 

Caroline. “Caroline” had said “HER neurotoxins”, and “I will smash”, as if the artificial intelligence who had been interrogating her until a minute earlier was a separate individual from her. And female.

 

Symmetra tried to ignore the pain as she glared at her captor. “And what about you?” she asked hoarsely. “Does THIS subroutine have a name?”

 

“I am not a subroutine. I am in charge. I am GLaDOS, the Genetic Lifeform and Data Operating System. And you will tell me everything you know. About the company whose name you foolishly mentioned, about your absurdly inefficient portal device, about your turrets and your gun and your hard-light constructs . . . and about Chell. Or you will find my failure to delete Caroline quite – infuriating as well.

 

Symmetra turned her head and coughed painfully. “No, I will not,” she said. “You will kill me anyway, and then you will use the information I give you to kill others. The secrets of my technology will die with . . . “

 

What was that odd sound?

 

It was GLaDOS, she realized. GLaDOS was laughing at her.

 

“Clearly,” the supercomputer finally said, “your malnutrition has affected your intelligence as well as your weight and bone density. You think I want your stupid little machines for my own purposes? Then I have something to show you.”

 

The roof of the chamber was unexpectedly torn from over Symmetra’s head, and a large metal claw descended. It deftly caught her cybernetic arm in its pincers despite her attempts to pull away, and hoisted her into the air like a prize in a child’s game.

 

“Let me go!” Symmetra demanded.

 

“You are thirty feet in the air. Perhaps you would care to re-evaluate your request,” GLaDOS said dryly.

 

Symmetra swung her head left and right, up and down, and realized that the “room” she had been in, had actually been some kind of makeshift chamber, created by walls of panels within a MUCH larger spherical room. Even GLaDOS’ head was dwarfed by the room. On one side of the room were multiple oversized video monitor screens, and it was these that Symmetra found herself carried towards. Every screen showed the same image, that of a young . . . woman . . .

 

“What,” Symmetra whispered, “is THAT?”

 

“That is Chell.”

 

Symmetra had actually been referring to the glossy white gun, not the young, physically fit woman in the orange pants and tank top who was carrying it. But she glanced over at GLaDOS, surprised by the note of – affection? Perhaps even fondness? She thought so. For the first time, instead of looking angry or suspicious or maddened, GLaDOS’ eye seemed almost to convey an air of contentment.

 

Then GLaDOS caught her looking, and the affection, equally surprisingly, became embarrassment. “By which I mean, the dangerous mute lunatic Chell,” she said quickly. “I had to send her away before she murdered me for the third time. Highly unstable.”

 

If GLaDOS thought something was “unstable”, it was probably closer to “completely deranged”.

 

“Actually, I was referring to what she is carrying,” Symmetra said, turning back to the video screens and once again finding herself mesmerized by the device, which looked like a fully realized version of the Black Mesa prototype which Vishkar had redesigned in order to make it functional. She watched as Chell used it to effortlessly generate portals on the walls of some kind of maze/torture chamber, vaulting through them with ease, only to close them and summon new ones in the blink of an eye.

 

It was a work of art. Next to that, her own teleportation device truly WAS rudimentary. If she had one of THOSE at her disposal . . .

 

“That,” GLaDOS said with pride, “is a portal gun. One of Aperture Science’s greatest inventions. Next to me, obviously.”

 

Symmetra had never heard of Aperture Science, but after the Black Mesa fiasco, she wasn’t about to volunteer that information. “Is that why you’re looking for Chell? Did she steal it?”

 

“You humans are all so suspicious. Your first thought is that she must have stolen from me? No wonder you’re always either trying to murder me or control me. No, I merely wish to speak with her.”

 

“To . . . the woman who you claim murdered you twice?”

 

“What’s a little thermal discouragement between lab partners?”

 

Symmetra had no response for that.

 

“So,” GLaDOS continued anyway, sounding smug all of a sudden, “do you still suspect me of planning to appropriate your incredible, amazing, one-of-a-kind portal device for my own twisted ends?”

 

She had to remind herself that, portal gun or not, this was an extremely intelligent supercomputer, quite insane, and holding her prisoner. And she might very well be lying about the portal gun. “If you no longer have this portal gun at your disposal, then yes, you might very well be desirous of the next best thing. Especially if you’ve already used neurotoxins to kill the original inventors.”

 

GLaDOS scoffed. “This portal gun? I have several portal guns at my disposal, including that one. In fact . . .” She turned away. “Blue? Orange? Come here immediately. If you insist on high-fiving each other and wasting my time, you WILL be exploded.”

 

Symmetra had no response for that either.

 

She could only wait and watch, still hanging suspended by her arm, as two oddly-shaped robots came running through a hatch forty-five seconds later. Each one had only one eye, one with a large orange iris, the other with a large blue one. And each one . . . was carrying a portal gun.

 

She couldn’t possibly be drooling, could she?

 

“Well, well. Look at that.”

 

Symmetra turned her head in GLaDOS’ direction once more, and saw the computer was staring again at the video monitors. Looking where GLaDOS was, she was shocked to discover that this Chell woman was now using the portal gun to dodge some smaller machines that looked remarkably like the turrets Vishkar had developed for her. Or had they?

 

“Chell leaves here,” GLaDOS said casually. “Within six months, videos begin appearing on the Internet of something called Overwatch, including one female member who uses devices that look REMARKABLY like portal guns and turrets.” She moved her eye back in Symmetra’s direction. “Coincidence?”

 

“Yes, it is a coincidence, actually,” Symmetra replied, now angered that GLaDOS was suggesting that she had stolen her tech from this young woman who she’d never even seen before. “I have been using these inventions in the field for YEARS. Long before your ‘lab partner’ ever left here.”

 

GLaDOS didn’t answer her. She just looked back at the two robots below them, who evidently were named “Orange” and “Blue”.

 

The robots both waved up at them. Then the taller “Orange” turned and fired its portal gun twice at two different white wall panels. It almost seemed to stroll as it entered through one, and instantly popped out of the other.

 

“If you tell me what you do know,” GLaDOS said, “I promise you will be given the chance to fire one of those guns as many times as you like.”

 

Symmetra looked back at her arm, still clutched in GLaDOS’ iron grip. Could she possibly survive this if she held onto what she knew? How much use could it be to the A.I. anyway? Whereas, if she got hold of one of those guns, then she could figure out a way to teleport herself out of – wherever on Earth she was.

 

She sighed, feigning defeat. “Where would you like me to begin?”

 

To be continued . . .


End file.
